Indulgence
by RavenStyx
Summary: She's an addiction. She's an affliction. She's the cure to all his ails and he crosses the room with the surety of a man rushing with abandon to his demise. Rated M for sexual content.


Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima.

Rated M for sexual content. Language? Probably.

Mafia AU one-shot inspired by Mashima's graffiti art and a cosplay I shared on Tumblr a while ago.

Just a note: when I refer to cleaner, I don't mean maid. Well, not really. I mean, someone who cleans up the mess after a kill. In this case, not only a professional cleaner but a killer, too, working for the mob to hide their dirty business. (I've wanted to write about cleaners _forever_ , and now I have. Not in as much detail as I want, but meh. It was an impromptu 'I'm drunk, so I'm going to write' thing.)

* * *

She's found in an art deco bed surrounded by indulgence. Grapes that will sit on her lips, plump and ripe, apples that will not bleed their colour when she bites through crisp skin, wine as dark and as thick as her hair, as sweet as her skin. She's contrasting colours, dark scrawled on a peach canvas—new tattoos she's never had before—scarlet strands, spider's silk hair weaved with blood. She's known and unknown. She's sweet and bitter. She's using her gaze to cut through the room and he's not paralyzed as other men might be. She's an addiction. She's an affliction. She's the cure to all his ails and he crosses the room with the surety of a man rushing with abandon to his demise.

Erza's hands come out and welcome him; his face is captured between two palms that have held countless guns, seen plenty of blood, and have bruised on the faces of those she deems deserving. She's both gentle and cruel. She's wicked, this tempest. He kisses her and tastes the red on her lips. It's artificial colour, and he likes it. The way it tastes, the way she leaves a piece of herself behind with every kiss.

"You're late."

He is. Gods. He is. It isn't his detective's badge that takes up his time, though. "Your mother."

"Needs to have her best cleaner."

It's good she understands. "But I'm here." Until Eileen discovers she has another problem for him to take care of. He takes Erza's mouth again and she's more accommodating, this work of art, this thing of beauty, this, the daughter of the deadliest woman in Fiore. This woman Jellal loves more than life and limb. She _will_ be the reason he steps out one day and never returns, he's sure of it. She'll be the reason Eileen doesn't let him make the return trip. No one gets out of the business, not even the boss's daughter's lover. He doesn't care.

She's a taker, Erza, demanding all of his attention. He brushes his lips over her neck and her shoulder and her collarbone. He tightens his hands in her hair. He finds the tattoo on her chest and kisses it. Her back arches, breath comes from her mouth in a sigh.

Jellal doesn't know what she's wearing or how she got into it, he knows that it's easy to get her out of it, though, and takes the thin fabric covering her breasts and pulls it aside. She spills out, cream and roses lifted into hard peaks that taste like salt on his tongue. She breathes more harshly and grabs his hair with both hands, pulling him into her chest even as she spreads her legs and arches her hips. There is nothing beneath the skirt she's in. Her center brushes over his and his head empties. He responds in kind and earns himself a furious and messy kiss. He's sure he's wearing scarlet colour on his mouth now. He's also sure that he doesn't care.

Erza is pliable and eager for his attentions so when he lifts her up by the waist, she comes, a little limp like a flower plucked from a vine. She lets him turn her around on her bed and the glass of wine she hasn't finished knocks, the fluid threatening to spill over the edge. Neither of them stops to fix it.

Jellal doesn't require Erza to be bare but he parts with his clothes so he can feel as much of her skin on his as possible. That turns out to be a lot, the warm expanse of her back, the backs of her thighs. He leans into her and kisses her cheek, her neck and her spine between her shoulder blades. Lower, to the small of her back, the swell of her behind. She pants and spreads her legs and him, kneeling on the bronze tiled floor now, kisses between them, too. Breath comes short. Jellal works to make it fast.

Fingers tighten in bed sheets, hips tilt. Jellal lets his tongue slide to her front and finds a spot that makes her sob.

It takes minutes to get the response he wants but it's worth the aching tongue and the bad angle craning because she grabs the back of his head and pulls his hair as she cries out. When she's finished, she slumps forward on the bed. Her lipstick smears there, too, red on white amongst the deco bedspread. Jellal stands and rolls her over so he can see her clearly. Her cheeks are red, so is her neck. Her chest rises and falls quickly. He hitches her legs on his arms; her hands close on his wrists and she wriggles to the edge of the bed. Jellal takes her by the hips and pulls her closer again. Her body invites him inside and he forgets everything about his bloody and brutal day. There are no white plastic suits to cover his clothes, no buckets of blood to dump down the sink, no bleach to use after or muriatic acid to eat through evidence, no double life to dance through. He'll have to return to reality soon enough, but for now, this is all he has to worry himself with.

She is a sundew and Jellal is more than willing to fall into her trap. She likes to be close when she orgasms and wraps her arms around his neck. Her body bucks and her lips leave another bit of her on his neck that he'll probably forget to wash off later. He wraps his arms around her middle again and pulls her upright so he can feel each one of her convulsions. She captures his mouth before she's finished and tells him, "Come," in a voice so sultry, it sends hot shivers through his body. Jellal can't hang on anymore. He comes in her because she won't let him go. She takes all of his moans and eats them before falling back limply. Jellal plants his hands on either side of her torso and pants.

"Don't be late again," Erza says languorously.

Jellal drops a kiss between her breasts. "I'll try."

* * *

Another dump of fucking.

Anyway. Wordslinger and I have posted chapter 2 of Lies of a Lost Girl. You can find it on the profile Mira's Bar. It's a Jerza with a side of Miraxus.


End file.
